Montana Dawn (25 page)

M
ORE
coffee?” Faith asked as she lowered three tin plates into a bucket of warm water and began washing them. Joe shook his head. Standing, the brawny man stretched his legs and set about harnessing the team.

Quietly, where Faith had left him, Colton carefully held his little sister. He wasn’t allowed to walk with her yet, being that she was still so young. His eyes, darkened by worries not meant for someone his age, studied the baby. His brow was furrowed, his lips thin.

Three long, tormenting days had passed since they’d left the Heart of the Mountains ranch, and still there was no sign of Ward. The road though the countryside had been desolate and was traveled uneventfully. Faith had let herself become hopeful that somehow a miracle had happened and Ward had changed his mind and gone home. Then she’d come to her senses. She was edgy, expecting to see him around each corner they turned—or perhaps sauntering into camp just in time for breakfast or supper.

Closing her eyes, she let herself daydream about other hopeful outcomes to the predicament she and her little family were in: Luke would come home, read her note, not believe it, come find her in Priest’s Crossing at the mercantile and insist that she return with him to his ranch. To marry him? Of course.

“Ouch!” Faith yanked her hands from the bucket. She inspected the index finger she’d just jabbed with the pointed end of a knife. A small drop of blood beaded on top. Wiping that away, she stuck the finger into her mouth.

“I want to go back,” Colton announced matter-of-factly, for the thousandth time.

“Shh, you’ll wake Dawn,” Faith said, in a weak effort to change the subject. The moment that Colton stopped crying he’d begun pestering her day and night to turn the wagon around.

He drilled her now with a sullen stare. “Mr. Brunn can go ahead on his horse and we’ll take the wagon back. We done it before. We can do it now.” His nostrils flared. “I know the way.”

Faith shuddered. What was he going to be like when he found out they weren’t going to Priest’s Crossing at all, but back to the farm? Back to his grandfather.

“Colton, please. I’ve explained before that we were only visiting. We have to make a home of our own.”

“Colton,” Joe called. His patience with the boy was inexhaustible. “Leave your mother be. She’s doing what she feels is best for all.” He came around the wagon and started loading their belongings, getting ready to pull out.

Conceding, Colton waited for Faith to take the baby. “Can I ride Firefly today?” he asked. A measure of hope flickered in his eyes, and Faith didn’t have the heart to say no.

“I think that’s a fine idea. Just stay close to the wagon. No riding ahead.”

With drooping shoulders, Colton made his way over to the tree where his mare was tethered, and he began saddling her. His downcast mutterings to the animal could scarcely be heard.

Faith found Joe assessing her. “Don’t worry so about the boy,” he said. “Young’uns are buoyant. He’ll get to town and meet some friends. He’ll forget all about that ranch.” He reached for the dishpan and tossed the water onto the fire. “Can even start school.”

“Yes, school,” Faith repeated. “I would love Colton to go to school.”

Joe’s attentive gaze made Faith uncomfortable, especially as his eyebrows lifted. He’d taken to talking with her every opportunity that arose. She’d liked him better when he was more on the quiet side, like when they’d first started out.

“How much longer will it take to get to town?” she asked. With Dawn in one arm, she went about the best she could picking up the rest of their belongings. A couple more things and they’d be ready to leave.

“I’d say about three more days. We’re doing pretty well on time and covering a lot of ground.” He grinned broadly. “Anxious to be rid of me?”

“Heavens no,” she stammered, embarrassed that he’d read her mind. Being alone with a man—any man, besides Luke—rekindled uncertainties. Fears. In her mind she knew Mr. Brunn would never hurt her, that he was a good man who had the faith of the McCutcheons, but that didn’t stop her overactive imagination.

“Well, good. I’m awfully glad to hear that. Being that you’re goin’ to be working for Christine, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” he said, his expression meaningful.

“I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Brunn.”

“It’s Joe. The least you can do is call me by my first name.”

She swallowed. “All right…Joe.”

Morning came and went. A strong breeze picked up and covered them all from head to toe with a thick coat of trail dust.

Still no Ward. Was there a chance that somehow he’d gone and gotten himself killed? Oh, for heaven’s sake! She’d turned into a wretched woman, hoping for a man’s death. But that was exactly what she was doing.

Stretched out on his stomach, Luke watched the farmhouse from the top of the ridge, his field glasses pressed to his eyes. The sun, which was creeping west, had slipped behind a large cloud, cooling the air considerably. He rolled to his side and
eyed the canteen that hung from his horse’s saddle some ten feet down the far side of the bluff.

He’d stay out all night if he had to, and track Brown when the man went to fetch Toby. But not much was happening down there now. Nor had it been for the past two hours. He was getting restless.

“Come on, you cow dung,” he said under his breath, “make your move. Enough lollygagging, already. Let’s get this over with.”

He set the glasses down in the grass and ground his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. Faith had said she’d wait. She wouldn’t leave until he’d returned, would she? Her dead husband’s brother and father and her past cast a whole new light on things. With Luke being over in Kearney and off the ranch, would Ward just up and pack her off? Luke was afraid of that. But surely his brothers wouldn’t let that happen.

With a knuckle Luke nudged the brim of his Stetson up and scratched his scalp. The warmth of the sun was making his head sweat. And the ants…He slapped his neck. This waiting was maddening. Could be he hadn’t made the bait tempting enough.

Picking up the glasses, he looked down at the house. Movement caught his eye. Brown crossed the porch and was heading for the barn. Finally!

Luke lay still until Brown reappeared with a horse and rode off in the opposite direction; then he jogged over to his horse and quickly followed. He tried to stay off the road but there were some places rocks and brush made that impossible.

After a good three miles, Luke spotted Brown’s horse tied behind a little shanty where a dried-up streambed crossed the road. He tied his own horse behind an outcropping of trees and waited. Soon he heard Brown’s angry voice, though he was too far away to actually hear what was being said. Luke edged closer.

“Toby, you skinny old goat, get your ass up,” Brown bellowed.
“I’m gonna beat you within an inch of your life if you don’t get on your feet.”

“I can’t. I’s sick,” came the reply.

“You ain’t sick. You’re coming with me,” Brown ordered.

“I’s sick.” Toby went into a bout of coughing that had Brown cussing a blue streak.

Luke plastered his body to the wall, holding his breath as Brown stomped out. Through narrow eyes, he watched the man mount and ride off.

Luke cautiously entered the shanty. When Toby saw him, he struggled in fear, trying to sit up. He held a cloth to his mouth and was hacking so hard his eyes were watering. Splotches of red stained the handkerchief as he wiped his mouth.

Dropping to his knees, Luke helped the man lie back. “Can I get you anything?”

The old man shook his head, clearly miserable.

“You’re Toby.” It was more of a statement than a question, but the man answered anyway.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m Luke McCutcheon. I need some information. Do you think you can talk?”

Toby started coughing again, and Luke looked around for a cup for water. Finding nothing, he ran out to his horse and retrieved his canteen. He held it to the man’s cracked lips, helping him drink. The anguish on his face was gut-twisting.

“I’m a friend of Faith Brown. I’m here on her behalf.”

The man transformed immediately. His expression became something of a smile. “Miz Faith,” he said on a sigh. “How is she? And Master Colton?”

“They’re fine,” Luke said, hoping his words were true. “But I need to find out about Samuel Brown and what happened the day he died. Do you know anything about that?”

Toby was quiet so long Luke feared maybe he’d get nothing out of him. Desperation fueled him to say, “Please. She may
be in trouble unless I get the truth. Was she responsible for Samuel’s death?”

Toby took a breath and struggled to speak. “They said they’d kill me iffin I told. Now it makes no matter. I’s dying anyway.
No.
She didn’t push him like somes think. He was beatin’ on her like he liked to do, drug her up to the loft cuz she was skeered of heights. Liked to frighten her.”

As Toby launched into another coughing fit, Luke tried without success to be patient. Fury at Samuel and how he’d abused Faith raged within him. If the man weren’t dead already, he’d have been dead shortly. “How did he die?”

“I was on my way up ta try ta stop him when he lunged at Miz Faith. But she rolled away. He fell over the edge and broke his neck. I guess you could say he done killed hisself.”

Finally! All he had to do was keep this man alive to tell the sheriff what he knew.

But Toby grabbed his arm as he went to stand. “Dey’s more.”

“Go ahead.”

“Soon after Miz Faith married that scoundrel, he went out to work with her pa. Another man showed up, and the two off an’ put him under the plow. Dey killed him.” Toby squeezed his eyes shut and stopped speaking.

Luke gave him a minute before prompting him to continue. “Do you know who the other man was?”

“His brother.”

A deep and sharp dread filled Luke. He’d been a blind fool! Ward was more desperate than he’d ever thought. And much more dangerous. He tried to keep the anger from his voice as he asked, “Why didn’t you go to the sheriff and tell him what you knew?”

“Dey said they’d hurt her more—and the boy, too. The judge and Brown are relatives. It wouldn’t do no good to try nothin’. I’s the one who told her of the plan they was making to blackmail her. I heard ’em talkin’ the day after Mr. Ward
proposed, and helped her get away. I sneaked in and put tainted meat in their stew so deys would get awful sick. I didn’t care iffin dey died, dem blackhearts deserved it…but dey didn’t. It gave Miz Faith a good head start. I wanted ta go wif her, but I have a sista I look after, too.”

The slow, deafening click of a gun’s hammer being drawn back reverberated through the room. Luke spun around to see Brown standing in the doorway. The man’s pistol was aimed at his head.

“Thought them tracks were fresh, might belong to you,” he said, his voice raspy like he needed a stiff shot of whiskey. “Just what are you
really
after, boy?”

Luke never took his eyes off Brown. No way was he going to end up dead here, not with Faith needing him back home. Not in this lifetime. Not in the next.

Brown gestured to Toby. “What have you been tellin’ him, old man?”

Toby didn’t answer, and Luke could see Brown’s anger building, smoldering, getting ready to erupt. In the blink of an eye, his face turned ugly. “I should’ve killed you a long time ago.” He swung his gun from Luke toward Toby. Brown’s finger flexed.

Luke grabbed the end of the cot, dumping Toby to the floor. Brown fired. Luke dropped and rolled to the left, drawing his gun. The big man swung back, and both men fired at the same split second, the sound exploding through the room and filling it with the acrid smells of smoke and blood.

The smoke cleared. Luke found himself crouched in a corner, holding his right shoulder. The blood seeping through his fingers was surprising, for he felt no pain.

He looked around. The bulky body of Ward’s father was lying on the floor, faceup, eyes wide. Even in death, he had an evil look.

Toby lay still as well, so Luke scrambled over to the old man and felt for a pulse. Struggling to right the cot took a
major effort, and with only one arm Luke strained to get the aged black man back atop it. Toby was shot in the side. It was a flesh wound, but it was bleeding heavily. He needed to get to town quick if his life was to be saved.

“Toby, can you hear me?” Luke ground out, an edge to his voice. The pain in his shoulder was kicking in and soon it was going to hurt like hell.

“I…hear ya.”

“I’m taking you to town. To the doctor. So just try and hang on.”

“Don’t ya worry none. I’s hangin’ on till I talk ta de sheriff.”

Luke looked into the old man’s face. “You’re a good man, Toby.” Giving a final look at the corpse on the shanty floor, he gritted his teeth against the pain and hoisted Toby onto his good shoulder.

L
UKE
tried to get comfortable on the hard wooden bench, but the throbbing in his shoulder pounded through his body, making him queasy. The rocking motion of the train didn’t help either. With each tiny move, pain coursed wildly through him, and he closed his eyes, wincing.

It’d taken hours for the doctor to get him patched up. The bullet had lodged deeply in his shoulder, and because of that he’d lost quite a bit of blood, leaving him as weak as a day-old kitten. The wound had forced him to take the train the remainder of the way home, which was costing him an extra day. According to the doctor it was suicide to travel so soon after surgery, but waiting wasn’t an option.

Damn Brown! If he hadn’t gotten shot, he’d be home now. Able to tell Faith all he’d done to exonerate her of any guilt in
Samuel’s death. Though, maybe he was kidding himself. Possibly she’d still want to go to Priest’s Crossing. Her first marriage had been so horrible, she might not want to risk trying over again. That’s what she’d told Amy, wasn’t it?

Luke tried to rest, reminding himself he was in a weakened condition. With head leaned back against the wooden slats he reached up to cradled his wounded shoulder. The landscape sped past the boxcar’s opened door as his mind went over and over each possible scenario.

Thankfully, Toby hadn’t let him down. Just like he’d promised, he’d hung on until Luke could get him to the doctor—and also until the sheriff had a chance to talk with him. After the sheriff learned Luke was acting as a deputy for Brandon Crawford, and of Ward’s part in the killing of Faith’s father, he’d given Luke a warrant for the second Brown’s arrest. Toby, recovering from his wound, was also being treated for consumption. Luke had left the doctor plenty of money to ensure that he would be properly cared for. He’d also made arrangements for a stay at the boardinghouse while the man healed and recuperated.

Frowning, Luke slowly reached with his good arm for his saddlebag. He felt around until he found one of the willow branches he’d packed before boarding the train. He stuck the twig in between his teeth and chewed, trying to be patient.

The landscape had changed from desolate isolation to occasional signs of civilization. Every so often they’d pass a farmhouse or ranch with families who’d call out greetings to the little wagon making its way toward Priest’s Crossing.

Faith was becoming more than hopeful. Ward would have shown up by now, wouldn’t he, if he intended to follow through with his scheme? She couldn’t imagine what had changed his mind or what had happened, but she wasn’t going to question this blessing. Joe said they’d reach town by tonight. That in itself was a welcome miracle.

“You’ll need a place to stay,” Joe remarked, looking over at her from his spot on the wagon seat. “Maybe I can help out with that.”

“Oh, please. You’ve already done enough for us, Joe. I can’t ask any more of you.”

“Nonsense. I know the owner of the boardinghouse personally. Actually, I stayed there from time to time before I bought my own place. I’ll check and see if she has any rooms open.”

Faith hated being so indebted to Joe, but what could she say? She did need to find lodging, since Ward hadn’t shown up. Maybe she really could start a new life with a job with Christine Meeks. “Thank you,” she said.

With a rustle of skirts, she climbed back to check on Dawn. She also needed some space and time to think. The wagon slowed and then came to a stop. She glanced out in question.

“Rider coming,” Joe called back.

A rider? No! Don’t let it be Ward! Not now. Please, God, not that.

It was Ward. He was slumped in the saddle, disheveled, several days’ growth of whiskers on his face. He must have been gambling and drinking for several days because he looked like he felt horrible. A rider could go cross-country to Priest’s Crossing so much faster than staying on the road, and that’s what he must have done and spent his time waiting for her in the saloon.

“Howdy,” Joe called when he was close enough to hear.

Ward nodded but didn’t take his eyes from Faith. “Hello, Faith,” he said tetchily. “You ’bout ready to come home and stop all this foolishness?”

This was it. She needed to be convincing for Joe’s sake. He’d become quite possessive of her, protective, and now she worried about his reaction.

“Ward,” she said.

Joe’s head snapped around at her declaration. “You know this man?”

“Yes. He’s my brother-in-law. Family.” Her mouth went dry and she couldn’t look at him.

“I’m glad to see you, Ward,” she said with fake enthusiasm. “I’ve tired of this traveling and the silly idea I had of working for myself and putting down new roots. I miss home,” she added, choking back a sob.

Ward reined up alongside the wagon. He nodded. “Thought you might.”

Glancing at Joe, Faith saw his angry expression. “Just what are you saying, Faith—that you’re going off with this man? This stranger?”

“He’s no stranger. He’s Colton’s uncle. I
am
sorry, though, to have been such a problem to you and the McCutcheons. I never should have run away after my husband was killed. But I thank you for all that you’ve done for me, Mr. Brunn. And for the children.”

She held her breath. Would he believe her?

Clearly unhappy, Joe turned his attention back to Ward. “You’re planning to just up and take this wagon back the way we’ve come? You don’t have enough supplies!”

Ward nodded. “I’ve purchased supplies in town. We’ll pick them up tonight and then head out tomorrow.” As if annoyed at being questioned he added, “This is Faith’s—or should I say my deceased brother’s—wagon.”

“These are the McCutcheons’ horses,” Joe shot back.

“I’ll buy a new team in town,” Ward said. “I wouldn’t want to have anyone accuse me of horse-stealing.”

He’d certainly thought of everything. Joe looked like he was wavering. Even if he didn’t approve of the choice, he wouldn’t stop her if she had a mind to go home.

Home? The word made her heart beat fast. Home was Luke’s ranch, Luke’s arms. Home was the afternoon they’d spent in the grass.

Clearly just having awoken from a snooze, Colton popped his head out from inside the wagon to see what was going on.
His gaze flew from Ward to Faith and back again, astonished. He looked too scared to say anything. Thankfully, Joe didn’t notice.

“Time’s a-wasting,” Ward called, and he turned his horse in the direction of town.

He rode alongside Faith. The scent of cheap perfume and whiskey wafted up to the wagon seat. Ward began whistling.

“Preacher’s waiting, too,” he said just loud enough for her to hear.